


batarang me a star

by nomwrites



Category: Batman - All Media Types, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Mental Instability, Overprotectiveness, Possessive Behavior, Rare Pair, Violent Thoughts, he should be in arkham, kind of, or at least seeing a very very good therapist, villain bruce
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-09 02:34:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20987399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomwrites/pseuds/nomwrites
Summary: Bruce Wayne and Harrison Wells have history.





	1. Bruce RP (post-Flash S2)

**Author's Note:**

> This was the opening thread to the Bruce/Harry dinner on the RP blog. LadyofPride and I had most of the story planned out (with lots of help from therealhunterzolomon) and I remember this taking a loooooong time to post because beginnings and me do not get along. Takes place post-S2 of CW's The Flash.

Bruce shivers as he looks at the swooping curls and points of the S.T.A.R. Labs logo. 

The last time he’d been here, the building was deserted, emptied out by the threat of a madman who could kill in the blink of an eye. He remembers it vividly---the deafening silence; the terror that clawed at his throat as he'd turned bodies over one by one; the staggering relief when none of the dead had been Harrison or Jesse; and then, finally, the crushing realization that he was too late anyway, Harrison was gone again. 

But that was then and this is now---a different night, a second chance, and this time, Bruce swears to himself, he won't be too late. 

He takes a deep breath, holds it in for a second, and blows it out slowly. Then he strides forward, letting two months' worth of excitement flood back into his body. He's buzzing from head to toe and it feels good. 

Bruce looks around the lobby as he makes his way to the front desk. 

It’s quiet, in a soothing, normal sort of way. The usual bustle of people is absent. 

Good. The fewer people around the better. He wants Harrison all to himself tonight. The rest of the world can come back tomorrow. 

“Good eve---,” Bruce’s cheerful greeting dies on his lips. The receptionist isn’t anyone he recognizes. There used to be a time when he’d known Harrison’s staff by name. They’d been, one and all, his gleeful allies and co-conspirators---always willing to help him surprise Harrison and make him smile. 

Bruce swallows against the sudden tightness in his throat. He hopes they’re still around somewhere. He hopes none of them had been casualties in Zoom’s reign of terror. 

The receptionist--- _Ann_, her nameplate reads---smiles at him. She doesn’t so much as blink at the bouquet of roses he’s holding but can’t contain her concern when she sees the bandages around his hand. He passes off the injuries as the result of a spelunking accident and assures her, smiling ruefully, _ yes, ma’am, I’m alright,_ _ thank you. _It’s easy to convince her---lying has become as easy as breathing. 

She smiles at him again and tells him to _please be more careful next time, Mr. Wayne._

Bruce is suddenly annoyed---her polite familiarity rubs him wrong; she’s too nosey and needs to mind her own goddamned--- 

He sighs internally and resists the urge to close his eyes in shame. He looks at her and her kind smile and feels guilty. 

He feels even guiltier when it only takes her a few seconds to confirm his appointment and give him an access card to Harrison's office. He thanks her and tries not to look like he’s running away. He’ll have flowers sent to her in the morning. He won’t sign it, of course, he doesn’t want rumors starting up, but he feels the need to make amends. She certainly doesn’t deserve his ire, even hidden as it is. 

He thinks again of the past---of other women and other men who had sat at her place; who’d grinned at him as he’d leaned across the desk and whispered, _ don’t tell Harrison, it’s a surprise, _and winked at him, mirth in their eyes and good intentions in their hearts. 

Bruce sighs. He decides to think of the future instead. He can’t meet Harrison in a melancholy mood, after all. 

He strides briskly toward the elevators, footsteps echoing against the tiled floor. He envisions Harrison waiting for him in his office, on the phone with Jesse or, perhaps, simply sitting at his desk, fiddling with his cufflinks, the way he always does when he’s lost in thought. It’s such a familiar image, so full of nostalgia and fondness, that it takes his breath away. He loosens his tie just a little bit, bandages catching on the knot. It's odd that air is suddenly scarce when it feels like he's walking on it. 

** _ Ding!_ **

Bruce steps into the elevator and presses the button for the top floor. He watches the numbers tick by, feeling anticipation crawling under his skin like a prickling heat. Harrison is so close now, _finally, finally— _

He feels like a man in darkness being offered light. 

For the first time in two years since Harrison went missing, he doesn’t feel lost. He knows exactly where he needs to be. 

Now if he could just _be there_ already. Bruce glares up at the display and starts absently tapping the bouquet against his leg. 

He’s aware that only seconds have passed since he stepped on---there’s a clock on the display---but it _feels_ like time is moving slower than normal. He’d swear, hand on heart, that an eternity passes between floors. 

It’s impatience. Impatience and the kind of excitement that sinks right down into the marrow of his bones. It strains his control. Challenges his discipline. In this state, he’s prone to reckless, impulsive, _foolish_ decisions. And a faulty perception of time. 

But that’s alright because this is a familiar and intimate refrain: 

When it comes to Harrison, his head bows before his heart. 

Bruce made peace with that particular fact long ago. He’s learned to handle it the way a man learns how to handle drowning---sink or swim. 

So it's fine. It’s just the way it should be. 

Except… 

Bruce grits his teeth. 

It's _not_ fine--- 

_Two years. Two months. _ ** _And Jay Garrick. _ **

It’s _infuriating_, the way the very name makes his blood boil. This stranger has absolutely no right to be _anything_ at all in Bruce’s life. And yet, here this… _interloper_ comes, like a mugger in a dark alley, trying to take what isn’t his. 

Not that Harrison belongs to anyone, of course. He’s his own man. But whatever Garrick’s intentions are, Bruce is certain there’s nothing good in it. It’s not just the seething jealousy talking, though he’ll admit it’s been eating him alive. His certainty is backed up by facts. He’d wanted to know exactly who Jay Garrick _is_ and found out exactly who he _isn’t._

He has no doubt about his findings or his conclusions. He’s dotted his I’s and crossed his T’s. He’s applied his methods, developed over many years and perfected through blood-soaked trial and error. They’ve never failed him when he’s gone looking for the truth. 

And the truth is this: 

Jay Garrick is an _impostor_.

A man with the right name and the wrong face. Or the right face and the wrong name. 

The man in the tabloid photos smiling at Harrison---Bruce has tried and failed to forget the image of Harrison smiling fondly back---is _definitely_ not Jay Garrick. A man in his late 50s or early 60s, when he should be in his late 30s. He doesn’t even look remotely alike. 

Who he _does_look like is one Henry Allen. An exact facial match and yet, Bruce knows for a fact that Henry Allen hasn’t been in Central City in the last three months---the benefits of owning a hotel in Atlantis.

Bruce has tried, and tried and _failed_, to identify the impostor. Disturbingly, there’d been no record of him _anywhere_. Henry Allen had no siblings. And though Bruce had found the Garrick name in the Allen family tree, there hadn’t been anyone named Jay. Or James. Or Jason. Or any other name that might possibly apply. Bruce had gone over their family tree so many times that he could recite their entire genealogical line from memory. 

In the end, Bruce had been forced to conclude that as far as official records were concerned, Henry Allen and the impostor weren’t related at all. And there hadn’t been a shred of connection to tie him to the blond Garrick. Trying to piece it all together had been maddening.

Bruce feels a black mood settle over him, the bubbling pleasant feeling gone as if it were never there. He remembers two months of spinning in circles---going round and round with information that made absolutely _no sense_. He’d felt the frustration mounting every day---unable to uncover the man’s identity and unable to see Harrison sooner. 

Every day of delay had felt like the tightening of a screw. And every picture of “Jay Garrick” out in public with Harrison had felt like the tightening of another. He’d been helpless, unable to leave Gotham out of duty; jealous beyond belief of another man’s stolen fortune; and terrified that Garrick will hurt Harrison every minute that Bruce isn’t there at his side. 

He’s wound tight, is the point, and the thought that this impostor, whoever the hell he is, has gotten so close to Harrison fills him with such rage that he feels the phantom weight of the cowl on his face and the Bat’s lust for blood in his heart. 

He wants to kill someone. 

No. 

** _He wants to kill Jay Garrick_**.

He wants to rend him limb from limb. He wants to gut him, hang him with his own intestines. He wants to set him on fire, put his head on a stake. He wants to flay him alive and write a lesson on his skin. 

He wants, more than anything, to teach this _pretender_ and his ilk--- every low-life criminal, every psychotic scum, every worthless _fuck_ on the planet--- that _Harrison Wells is off-limits._

A crackling sound startles him. He blinks and looks down. The bouquet’s crisp wrapping has been crushed under his grip. The bandages around his hand strain against his clenched fist. He eases his hold. 

He’s panting and his heart is racing. 

Bruce closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. And then another. And another. He feels wildly out of control. He feels panic---he _ can’t _ let Harrison see him like this. Not with the Bat so close to the surface. The shame will kill him. 

He needs to put everything back into the box in his mind the way he did before he came here. He needs to calm down. He _needs_ to think of something else. 

**_Ding!_**

Damn it all to hell, Bruce thinks, as he watches the doors roll open. He needs more time. He can’t go out--- 

His eyes widen in surprise. Harrison stands just in front of him, smiling. The blackness in his mind retreats instantly. 

“Harrison,” Bruce breathes, in disbelief, that airy, pleasant feeling from earlier flooding back. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting in your office?” 

Harrison laughs, the sound of it spreading through Bruce like a balm, “I thought I’d come be a good host.” 

“You didn’t have to. I-I---,” he stutters, as Harrison reaches out and runs his hand down Bruce’s collar, fingertips skittering past the thundering pulse on Bruce’s neck. He feels the weight of Harrison’s hand on the knot of his tie, the heat of his fingers at the base of his throat. He swallows. “What are you doing?” 

“Being a good host,” Harrison says, smiling at him, and then he curls his fingers around Bruce’s tie and _yanks._

It takes Bruce a stupidly long moment to realize what's happening--- 

_Harrison is kissing him._

For a timeless moment, his world narrows down to the slick, wet heat of Harrison’s tongue in his mouth; the uncomfortable pull of the tie around his neck; and Harrison’s hand at his waist, burning like a brand. 

Then his back hits the elevator wall with a _thump_, and the rest of the world comes back in sharp, dizzying color. 

Bruce groans. He drops the bouquet and pulls Harrison to him by his hips. He kisses him back frantically. The taste of him is heady and wonderfully familiar. He’s instantly hard. 

Harrison lets go of his tie, winds his arms around the back of Bruce’s neck, and _grinds_ into him. Bruce nearly folds over, the shock of pleasure punching all the air out of his lungs. He pulls back from the kiss with a growl, and flips them around, pressing Harrison into the wall gently but firmly. 

Harrison laughs, eyes dancing merrily. His laughter turns into gasps when Bruce tugs his collar aside and bites down on his collarbone, licking it soothingly after. Harrison arches his neck invitingly, and Bruce obliges, trailing kisses down his throat. 

Harrison pants against the side of his face, breath hot as a furnace. He gets both hands under Harrison’s shirt---one hand at his hip, keeping him still against the wall, and the other, dragging rough across his belly, settling possessively at the small of his back. Harrison shivers---his skin is _hot_, and so, so smooth against Bruce’s bare hands. 

Bruce is so dizzy with _want_. For a moment, the lights seem so bright that Harrison vanishes in the glare of it, then a mouth crashes onto his, and they’re kissing again. More frantic than before and much more desperate, as if they’re running out of time. Bruce pushes his knee between Harrison’s legs, pressing into him. Harrison clutches at his shoulders, scrabbling, trying to get closer, go faster, and Bruce just wants to give him what he needs so he hitches Harrison’s leg up ---they groan into each other’s mouth. They’re _so_ close. 

Harrison pulls back from the kiss, teeth catching at Bruce’s bottom lip, gasping for breath. He meets Bruce’s eyes and grins. Bruce grins backs, easily. Happily. 

Harrison leans in, and whispers breathlessly in his ear, “Bruce---” 

**_Ding!_ **

Damn it all to hell, Bruce thinks, as he watches the doors roll open. They need more time. They can't go out--- 

Wait. 

He frowns, confused, as the empty hallway stretches out in front of him. 

This is _wrong_. How did he get turned around? He wasn’t looking at the doors. He was looking at--- 

He spins around. 

And stares uncomprehendingly. 

For a timeless moment, his world narrows down to the empty space in front of him. His mind is absolutely, resoundingly blank. 

Then he hears the sound of rolling mechanism, and he lurches abruptly to catch the doors before they close. 

He stumbles out into the hallway, and leans, gasping, against the wall. His mind reels. He feels cold with shock. 

_What the hell just happened?_

He absently tries to run his hand through his hair and smacks himself in the face with the bouquet. 

Bruce blinks. He stares at the roses in his hand. He doesn't remember picking them back up. 

…did he ever actually put them down? 

He lets his hand fall back to his side and closes his eyes. He is so _confused_. 

Bruce counts out a full minute. And then he grits his teeth and opens his eyes, the bright lights momentarily blinding him. He looks down the corridor. Harrison’s office is _right there_. He clenches his hand into a fist and slams it into the wall behind him. He needs to get himself together. He’s fine, he's fine. He just had a--- 

_A dream _, Bruce decides, _Just a dream._

He’s tired, that’s all. The last couple of months _has_ been unusually busy. He must have fallen asleep on his feet. 

He shakes himself and takes stock---the pounding in his heart is slowing down; the heat is seeping back to his skin; his breathing is returning to normal. Good. 

But--- 

Bruce sighs. 

His pants are still uncomfortably tight. 

He looks at the turn to Harrison’s office and hopes to hell that _Ann_ down at reception didn’t call ahead. 

He’s going to need a few minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was rearranging my old folders and found pieces from RPs I did a few years ago. Back then I abandoned it rudely, without warning, which I've always regretted. Mostly because I had the most wonderful RP partner (ladyofpride) and what few followers/ask submitters I had were all lovely people. They certainly deserved better.
> 
> I didn't want to just forget these in my old blog or in a folder I'd forgotten existed so here they are. These will be disjointed and probably out of order.


	2. Bruce RP (pre-Flash S1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set several years before Zoom appears. Bruce doesn't want their relationship to be a secret but Harry has his reasons.

The interminable meeting adjourns and Bruce stands, stretching out the kinks in his back with a sigh. Fisher and his endless charts--the tenth circle of hell. 

“He would have been done an hour ago if you hadn’t nit-picked the damn things, you know.” 

Well. Maybe not quite hell. 

Bruce turns to the man beside him and says, wide-eyed with innocence, “I was only giving his hard work the proper attention it deserved.” 

Harrison rolls his eyes and turns away to gather his things, but not before Bruce catches the small quirk of a smile at the corner of his lips. 

No, Bruce thinks, definitely not hell. 

He glances around. The room is nearly empty, the others having bid hasty goodbyes as soon as the meeting had ended--late to various appointments as their schedule had overrun. There’s only Old Man Monty left in the room with them, snoring in his chair, dead to the world. 

Leaning close to Harrison, he murmurs, “Did you get my note?” 

Harrison tenses, flicking a glance toward Monty. He relaxes after a moment. “I got it.” Laughter and disbelief war in his eyes as he looks at Bruce. “Interesting place I found it. How did you even--” 

Bruce grins, waggling his eyebrows. “I have talented hands.” 

“Hm.” The sound is low and molten and there’s suddenly a lot less air in the room. “You do.” 

“So?” 

“So?” Harrison repeats. 

Taking a step closer, Bruce prompts, “The note.” 

“Oh. Right. You--” 

Electricity crackles in the air between them. A flush rises up Harrison’s neck. Bruce wants to feel the heat of it on his tongue. 

“--are ridiculous,” Harrison finishes, fond exasperation in his tone, but his eyes--they flick down to Bruce’s mouth and back up. Another step and they’re sharing breath. “I--” 

Bruce leans in. 

“Seltzer!” 

They freeze--and then Harrison smoothly glides past Bruce and says, “Monty? Wake up, old man. The meeting’s over.” 

Ignoring Monty’s annoyed grumblings, Bruce keeps his back turned to them. He closes his eyes and just breathes until he feels a tap on his shoulder. 

“Here, Bruce.” 

Turning, he sees Harrison holding his coat out to him. Bruce smiles. “Thanks.” He takes the coat, surreptitiously brushing long, elegant fingers with his thumb. The smile on his face doesn’t falter at all when Harrison draws his hand back a little too quickly. Practice. 

Bruce shrugs the coat on and takes hold of his briefcase. “Dreaming about seltzers, Monty?” he asks, as he rounds the table toward the doors. 

“What the hell are you babbling about, Wayne?” 

“You have to stop falling asleep at meetings, old man. You miss all the good stuff,” tuts Bruce, stepping out into the hallway as Monty harrumphs behind him. He pauses, indecisive for a moment. Then keeps walking and doesn’t look back. Still, he can’t resist calling out over his shoulder, “I’ll see you, Harrison.” 

“See you. Come on, Monty. Let’s get you a seltzer.” 

“Seltzer, seltzer! Stop babbling, boy!” 

Bruce sighs. 

Hell. 

There is a unique chaos to thirty children running pell-mell in the grass--screaming, laughing, shrieking in delight. Bruce grins. 

“You’re early, Mr. Wayne,” remarks Mrs. Hastings, matronly and gray as she joins him. “It’s good to see you, of course, but we were expecting you at dinner.” 

“I had a… complicated morning,” answers Bruce, shedding his coat and draping it over the back of a nearby bench. He starts rolling up his sleeves. “It’s good to see you too, Mrs. Hastings. How has everyone been?” 

She doesn’t answer for a moment, giving Bruce that same penetrating stare she gives errant children. He resists the urge to fidget until she finally turns away with a smile. “Just fine, Mr. Wayne. But we can discuss that later.” She inclines her head to the field. “Go have fun.” 

For the next hour, he’s “it”-- the children scatter, screaming in glee, and laughing boisterously the few times he lets them tackle him. By the time he’s run the children down to exhaustion, the tight, thorny feeling in his chest has eased. He breathes free and clear for the first time since he left Central City. 

Bruce collapses onto the bench with a sigh, breathless with laughter, the muscles in his cheek aching from smiling too much. The children of Gotham City Orphanage may look forward to his visits, but he’ll never be able to repay what they give him--an uncomplicated joy that never fails to remind him why he’s doing what he’s doing. 

Harrison does that too, he thinks, smiling to himself. But then the thorn in his chest makes itself known again and that it hasn’t gone away after all suddenly leaves him feeling more tired now than an hour of running did. He tips his head back and closes his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to will it away. 

“Bruce?” A small hand tugs at his arm. 

He opens his eyes and looks down. “Yes, Ana?” 

She climbs onto the bench next to him, six-year-old limbs clumsy, but dark eyes focused and intent. “You promised you’d bring pictures of when you were a kid next time. It’s next time.” She states, as matter-of-factly as only children can be. “Can I see them now?” 

Bruce huffs a laugh. “You can see them later after dinner. Aren’t you supposed to be getting cleaned up?” 

Ana frowns at him, small face set in a serious expression. “I don’t have to get cleaned up. I didn’t run a lot. See?” She jumps off the bench, twirls, and climbs back on again. “Can I see them now? Please?” 

Suppressing a smile, Bruce says, “Alright. They’re in my coat pocket. But try not to tease me too much about how big my ears were, okay?” 

“Okay!” she agrees, scrambling for the coat. Bruce closes his eyes again as he waits for her to find it. It’s peaceful here and Ana and the rest of the children make him feel light, but it’s not enough. The relief they give him is fleeting. Running his hand through his hair, he considers excusing himself from dinner and simply going home to crawl into his bed and pull the covers over his head. 

“What’s this?” 

“Hm?” 

Ana gasps and Bruce sits up with a start, eyes flying open. She looks up at him with wide eyes, small body quivering with some emotion. Then she giggles and scoots closer. A piece of paper is shoved in his face and she exclaims, voice high with excitement, “Someone likes you!” 

Bruce blinks, frowning in confusion. A closer look and--he breathes in sharply, heart thudding suddenly in his chest. In Ana’s hand is a note. His note. The one he gave Harrison. 

Only this one doesn’t just have a question written on it. It has an answer: 

_Do you like me?  X YES NO _

He carefully takes the note from Ana and stares at it in disbelief. Two intersecting lines at the right spot -- trust Harrison to be so efficiently and devastatingly charming. 

A touch to his cheek brings him back to awareness. Ana’s smiling face comes into view and only when she pokes at his cheek again does Bruce realize that he’s smiling from ear to ear. She giggles and tells him, “You’re blushing.” 

Bruce laughs, ducking his head for a second, feeling bashful and giddy under the astute scrutiny of a six-year-old. “Am I?” 

Ana nods. “Does that mean you like them too?” she asks earnestly. 

“Yes,” Bruce answers, with helpless honesty, staring down at the note again. “It does.” 

Tipping his head back, he closes his eyes for a moment, the smile on his face growing wider still. Then he stands and takes his coat in hand, drawing the forgotten envelope of pictures from a pocket. “Here, squirt. They’re yours.” Carefully tucking the note in his breast pocket, he ushers Ana along and starts walking toward the main building. “Come on. I’m hungry. You hungry?” 

“Uh-huh,” answers Ana distractedly, already busy looking through her prize. “Wow, your ears were really big.” 

Bruce laughs, too glad not to, as he looks forward to this evening, to tomorrow, and all the days that come next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A stand-alone ficlet on the blog.


	3. Bruce RP (The Beginning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, this is where everything starts. Bruce meets Harrison Wells for the second time.

_Finally. _

He keeps his eyes trained on Harrison Wells as the man makes his way to one of the balconies. Bruce has been waiting all night for an opportunity to approach him but this is the first time that Dr. Wells has been left alone for more than a minute. The man deserves all the attention and more, of course. He’s by far the most amazing person here.

But Bruce knows, from past experience, that many of the attendees are little more than shallow socialites and fame-seeking sycophants. His thoughts are, perhaps, a little uncharitable, but he’s been attending events like this since he was a boy, so he’s something of an expert by now.

_Good riddance. _

He moves to follow Dr. Wells but a hand on his arm stops him. He looks back and sees a woman smiling flirtatiously.

Bruce’s irritation flares.

He’s been dealing with his own admirers all night as well. _Bruce Wayne’s_ admirers, anyway. Men and women who flirt with him and offer sex with every look and every breath. He usually doesn’t mind it. He even encourages it. The playboy persona is useful and he finds it easy to turn on the charm. But tonight, with Harrison Wells’ presence consuming him, he doesn’t have time for any of them.

He manages enough decorum to gently shake off the woman’s hand and excuse himself politely to the men’s room. Alfred would be proud.

He takes a circuitous route through the crowd just in case the woman is still watching and deftly dodges any other attempts at intercepting him. He’s halfway to the balcony when he sees another man heading straight for it. Bruce recognizes him as one of Dr. Wells’ admirers from earlier. A particularly persistent one if the two wine glasses in his hands are any indication.

Well, that simply won’t do.

Bruce has no intention of letting anyone take this chance from him. He speeds up and times the elbow just right, the flow of the crowd masking his movements. The man’s outraged cry as his shirt turns red from the wine is extremely satisfying. He smirks.

Bruce is twenty feet from the balcony when he finally sees him. Dr. Wells is standing off to the side, partially obscured by the curtains hanging from the doors. The man turns for a second and sees him approaching. He takes it as a good sign when Dr. Wells doesn’t immediately leave.

_God, he looks beautiful in the moonlight. _

Bruce’s heartbeat speeds up.

Ten feet.

He suddenly feels panic as he realizes he has no idea what to say first. He remembers the only time he ever spoke with Dr. Wells face to face. One and a half minutes of interaction, all of it spent with Bruce stuttering like an idiot. He doesn’t want a repeat performance.

What should he say?

_Hello, Dr. Wells. I’m Wayne. Bruce Wayne._

No. He’s Batman, not James Bond. And the man certainly knows who he is... doesn’t he? They’ve only met once, after all. Perhaps he should make sure.

_Hello, Dr. Wells. Do you remember me? Your wife Tess introduced-_

**No. **

…

_Good evening, Dr. Wells. I’m Bruce Wayne. Do you remember me? I’ve been following you for a long time. I’m a big fan-_

He sounds like a stalker. Perhaps a joke?

_So giraffes… Too tall? _

Bruce sighs in despair.

_Keep it simple, Master Bruce._

Sometimes it annoys him that his internal voice often sounds like Alfred. But at this moment, he’s just thankful.

Keep it simple. Right. He can do that.

He pauses for a second at the balcony doors.

This is it.

This is his chance.

He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

_I can do this. I’m Batman._

“Good evening, Dr. Wells.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a reply post.


	4. Jesse RP (post-Flash S2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as the Bruce RP. 
> 
> Zoom, in his obsession with Harrison Wells, has decided to talk to Jesse about his connection to Bruce Wayne. Jesse, facing Zoom for the first time since she was his prisoner, is home alone and out of her mind with terror.

She's running so fast it feels like she’s flying. She can’t feel the ground beneath her feet or the pain in her shoulder when she accidentally slams into a wall. Her pulse is racing and her heart is pounding. It’s a miracle that she hears him call out through the buzzing in her ears. 

Bruce Wayne. Of course. He calls her dad out of the blue and now… 

Now her very own monster is here. 

He says he just wants to talk. But she doesn’t have a single reason to trust him. 

She looks over her shoulder. He’s not following her. She skids to a stop as she turns the corner. Why isn’t he following her? She presses her back against the wall. Her lungs are burning and her heart is beating right out of her chest. The fear is so thick she wants to throw up. 

Where is he? Throwing that beaker shouldn’t have worked. Is he letting her run like a rabbit for his own sick amusement? She wouldn’t put it past that sadistic bastard. 

She peers around the corner. Nothing. No sound either. _Keep running_. She takes one step and falls to the ground. Her legs have turned to jelly. The burst of adrenaline has run out. _ Oh god_. She feels light-headed and cold. She can’t get enough air. Dark spots fill her vision. 

She manages to crawl and sit against the wall. She tries not to pass out like a coward. God, she’s pathetic. She’s shaking like a leaf. Her face is wet with tears and snot. Her clothes are soaked with sweat. She feels so weak. 

She wishes she’d done so many other things today instead – stayed at her aunt’s – hung out with Cisco on Earth-1 – gone camping with Jay and her dad – 

She sobs. She wants her dad. Please. Please. Please. 

She sits there for a while but no one comes. 

Not even Zoom. Where is he? …Is he- She stops breathing as she hears a faint voice. It’s _him_. He’s calling out to her again. He really is following her. It’s hard to believe that he just wants to talk – about Bruce Wayne of all things – but she can’t deny that it would take him less than second to find her and yet… 

She should talk to him. If he knows something important, then she should find out. She has no idea why he wants to talk to her instead of her dad but it’s almost a relief. She doesn’t want Zoom and his sick obsession anywhere near her dad if she can help it. 

Except. 

Except she _can’t_ help it. She can’t face her monster. Whatever courage she had in the lab is long gone. She’s a pathetic coward and a horrible daughter. She should get whatever information she can from Zoom, try to protect her dad, but she _can’t_. She’s too afraid. 

She’s going to run. 

She uses the wall to pull herself up. Takes a step away- Her knees give out and she’s back on the floor. 

“Fuck!” 

She sobs in frustration and slams her palm against the ground. She can’t even control her own body anymore. She’s such a fucking coward. 

“Fuck!” 

She hits the ground over and over, the pain turning her frustration into anger. 

She realizes abruptly that Zoom can probably hear her. The thought of him listening to her have a breakdown boils her anger over into rage. 

** _ She hates him. She hates him._****_ She hates him. _ **

She grits her teeth and pushes herself back to sitting against the wall. Her fear is still there but the hatred is overwhelming. She doesn’t feel stronger or steadier but she feels insanely spiteful. Now, she _wants _to talk to him. To show that bastard that he hasn’t completely broken her. 

She may be a weak, pathetic coward who can’t even stand but she’ll at least try to be a good daughter. 

She wipes her face, takes a deep breath, and waits for the devil to find her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I played Jesse too. This was an abandoned thread with therealhunterzolomon. There are a few parts before this but those replies are so short I didn't think they were worth posting here. The gist of the encounter is mostly here anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I was rearranging my old folders and found pieces from RPs I did a few years ago. Back then I abandoned it rudely, without warning, which I've always regretted. Mostly because I had the most wonderful RP partner (ladyofpride) and what few followers/ask submitters I had were all lovely people. They certainly deserved better.
> 
> I didn't want to just forget these in my old blog or in a folder I'd forgotten existed so here they are. These will be disjointed and probably out of order.


End file.
